All Shapes and Sizes
by Plumcot
Summary: Today was the day. He had a whole new body after years of working through his problem, and he was ready to show it off. He found the shirt and slipped it on, throwing his beloved scarf over it and going to head out the door. Off to the world meeting. Rated for sensitive ideological material.


**Author's Note: This might be triggering for people struggling with eating disorders. You have been warned!**

**Edit: Aaand I misspelled sizes. XD THIS HAS BEEN FIXED!**

* * *

Russia searched through his closet, looking for that one special piece he'd never been brave enough to wear. He'd been eating healthy for a long time now, it had been years since he'd last broken the promise he'd made himself, but that had always been a secret. Something he kept to himself, almost diligently. After all, his previous eating habits weren't something he wanted to get out.

But today was the day. He had a whole new body after years of working through his problem, and he was ready to show it off. He found the shirt and slipped it on, throwing his beloved scarf over it and going to head out the door.

Off to the world meeting.

* * *

The meeting, as usual, was chaos. It hadn't even technically started yet, and already the patience of some of the more rational nations was being tested.

"No, dude, that's soccer!" America protested, looking confused at his former mentor.

"No, you bloody- football! It's called football!"

"But you've got it backwards! Football is the kickass game with the brown ball and all the broken legs! You're talking about soccer, the sissy sport where players collapse if you tap their frickin' ankle!"

Suddenly, all the European nations in the room turned to face him.

"Erm, Al?" Canada whispered to his brother. "Did you just insult soccer in a room full of Europeans?"

America probably would have had to do some quick thinking, or at least brace himself for a world of hurt, if the room hadn't suddenly had a very welcome (to America, at least) distraction.

"Hello, everybody!" Russia walked through the door, and everybody stopped and stared. He wasn't wearing his usual coat today, which, in itself wasn't all that unusual. He sometimes came to these meetings in other, more casual coats, or even baggy t-shirts if he just couldn't bring himself to give a shit. But today? The man was wearing a bright pink cotton t-shirt, with the words "I Beat Anorexia" emblazoned across the front. The shirt was just tight enough to show the husky figure underneath, the slight potbelly no one except his sisters had ever seen.

Russia walked toward his seat, excruciatingly aware of the stares he got as he went. They noticed. Hell, of course they noticed, he'd put it on a goddamn shirt!

_They think you're fat. _A voice inside his head told him. _Look at them, they can't take their eyes off you, you're like a trainwreck! What, did you think calling attention to your fat ass would make it go away? Did you think they'd accept you for who you are? Bullshit. They're staring at you like you're a zoo animal. Like you're a freak. _

Russia smiled. Not in earnest, but his trademark Russia-smile, the one that sent people running for the hills and had caused lesser people to faint. Everyone immediately lowered their heads or looked to the side, terrified of antagonizing the Slavic nation. All except for one; America. He was still looking. In fact, he was _smiling._

_See? He probably thinks it's hilarious, how fat you are! This is what you get, you pig. How much did you even eat for breakfast today? Lunch would probably be a bad idea too. Maybe you can-_

"Hey!" Russia was snapped back into the real world by the voice of America, who was looking up at him and grinning while leaning back in his chair. "Sit by me!" Russia stared, stunned. Where had that come from? He probably just wanted to tease the Russian. Yes, he'd be able to make jabs at his weight the entire meeting. Didn't that just sound like him?

But for some reason, for some strange, unfathomable reason, Russia found himself moving to sit in the chair next to the American. He braced himself for the attack. Suddenly, a fist was coming his way, and he nearly lashed out before he noticed that it wasn't punching him. It was just hanging there. In the air.

"Dude, you're supposed to punch it!" America prompted. Oh, yes, it was some American thing… Russia hesitantly took his fist and bumped it against America's, causing the blonde to grin wider. "Right on, man!"

Russia raised one eyebrow, confused. "What is the meaning of this?" He asked.

"To celebrate!" America explained. He patted his own stomach for emphasis, not as big as Russia's, but still on the pudgy side. "We gotta stick together, right?"

Russia smiled. Not a Russia-smile. A genuine, delighted smile that stayed with him for the rest of the meeting.

And somehow, that voice in his head didn't seem so loud anymore.

* * *

**Author's Note: I have no idea if that was realistic at all, but this is an idea I've had in my head for a while. I just hope I didn't mess it up by writing it out so fast!**

**I often imagine either Alfred or Ivan as having eating disorders, especially Alfred because he often gets teased for his weight. The only reason I didn't write about him is because I saw a picture online of Ivan in that exact shirt, and I loved it so much I had to write about it! So yes, I hope you enjoyed the story!**


End file.
